


his set axis

by quiettewandering



Series: Spirk Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Jim, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Protective Spock (Star Trek)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 01:39:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15450534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettewandering/pseuds/quiettewandering
Summary: Love is rarely logical.





	his set axis

**Author's Note:**

> anon prompt: Kirk is badly wounded and trapped by hostile aliens. Spock has to use his Vulcan strength to rescue him.
> 
> [note: there is a torture scene at the beginning of this but I tried to make it as un-graphic as possible.]

 There are times where Jim is infinitely grateful to know a Vulcan.

As a captain, Jim Kirk has had to do many frightening and terrible things. He’s ordered crewmen down to a planet, knowing full well it could be hostile and people could die. He’s made decisions that he knows the majority of his crew won’t like, and will give him subtly pissed-off looks in the hallways for the next month. He’s made sacrifices in his personal and professional life in order to keep diplomatic peace.

But the most frightening, and terrible thing, he’s perhaps ever done was ordering Spock to leave him behind in order to protect the ship. 

And Spock, he’s taught him one important thing: how to be logical in the face of death. How to lock gazes with Spock’s very human, very devastated eyes and see in there what Jim already knew:

That Spock leaving him behind meant Jim was going to die.

This is why Jim is immensely grateful to know a Vulcan: he knows that, unlike a human friend, Spock will make the decision for him. The logical decision that is better for the many rather than the few. The decision that has the captain half of Jim applauding his first officer for his quick decision-making, for putting the crew first.

The same decision that has the scared, very human side of Jim screaming for Spock to come back and never leave him, safety of the ship be damned.

These two halves of Jim constantly fight with each other. Especially now, in the quiet moments that he’s hanging from the ceiling by his wrists in a cold and damp cell, with nothing but the steady drip of a nearby broken pipe to keep him company. He tries his very best to make peace with the logic of the situation. The captain _should_ sacrifice himself for the ship. If he were to save his own skin only to have half his crew dead from an all-out phaser fire from the Klingon fleet, what kind of captain would he be?

Spock knows this to be the case. So he helped Jim to make the decision.

Jim can hear footsteps echoing outside of the prison cell, signaling the arrival of more Klingons. His sore ribs and possibly-concussed head, beaten into submission hours earlier, begin to ache in anticipation.

The fear makes the memory flash behind his closed eyes: Spock, insisting that Kirk beam up, and fight the Klingons in the safety of the _Enterprise_. Jim, placing a hand on Spock’s shoulder and saying, unable to meet his eyes, that it would be only logical to give the Klingons what they want: him.

Spock, seeing the war waging behind Jim’s eyes, simply nodded and lifted the comm to his lips, requesting a beam up—for all but Jim.

Jim waited until Spock had completely disappeared before letting his shoulders sag, before letting the desolation of his decision show on his face.

The cell door bursts open. Jim stamps down an immediate surge of dread when he sees a Klingon step into view. It’s the same Klingon that has already kicked Jim within an inch of his life hours earlier. He smirks at Jim and pokes him in the chest. Jim, free-hanging from the ceiling, swings backward from the force.

“You’re not as tough as the rumors make you out to be, _Captain_.” The Klingon spits out Jim’s title like a curse.

“Can’t believe everything you hear,” Jim shoots back with a humorless grin. The lack of water in the last day has dried up his throat, and his swollen jaw is making it difficult to speak.

The Klingon narrows his eyes. In a flash of motion, the back of his hand connects with Jim’s cheek. Jim reels back from the blow and drops his chin to his chest, breathing heavily. He blinks the stars from his eyes.

“Maybe if I hit you enough times, your mouth will start to spout some useful information instead of bullshit,” the Klingon muses. He nods to another group of them that’s walked in, wheeling in a machine that Jim doesn’t recognize.

“You won’t get anything out of me.” Jim tries to make it sound challenging, threatening even; but the obvious pain in his voice makes it fall flat. The Klingons don’t even act as if they hear him.

Jim watches through half-lidded eyes, trying desperately to keep consciousness, as his captors begin to plug in and fiddle with the machine. It’s an intimidatingly large and amorphous object that Jim can’t even possibly imagine its purpose.

His question is answered when one of the smaller Klingons begin attaching sticky wires from the machine onto Kirk’s chest.

He closes his eyes against the rising tide of panic, determined to not let it show on his face. Instead he thinks of something, anything, to keep a peaceful mindset: the sleek lines of his ship. How it remains rumbling, softly, beneath his feet even when he sleeps at night as a comforting pulse.

He hears the machine start up and a cold terror constricts his chest. Not enough distraction.

He thinks of his mother. How she gave him warm oatmeal, made old-fashioned on the stove, whenever he couldn’t sleep at night. He thinks of her long, golden hair that always got into her face and how she’d ask Jim to pull it back for her in a ponytail when her hands were soaked with dishwater. He thinks of his father and how whenever he was home on shore leave, he would inevitably fall asleep in his favorite armchair with a book on his chest even before Jim’s bedtime.

Jim can distantly hear the bigger Klingon say, “Tell us what we need to know, Kirk, and perhaps we’ll let you live a few hours longer.”

Jim firmly sets his jaw and shakes his head. He doesn’t trust his voice at that moment, choked on the memories of his family.

“Wonderful. Now we can have a little fun before you start begging for mercy.” At the snap of the Klingon’s fingers, the machine pitches to a terrifying roar.

Jim breathes quickly through his nose to subdue his panic. Frantically, more pleasant thoughts flash through his mind: he and Bones sharing a drink after a long shift, the alpha crew lighting up when he walks onto the bridge, the smell of Yeoman Rand’s perfume that always reminds him of roses, the way that Spock gets that smile in his eyes when Jim teases him, and he tries not to show how much he’s pleased and—

Jim’s heart constricts and he almost cries out in anguish just from the mere thought. _Spock._

The pain from the machine, a strange and paralyzing shocking sensation, begins to heighten in his body. It’s like a dial is being slowly turned up, gradually lighting the fire on his sensitive nerve endings. His breathing becomes erratic.

He thinks of their chess games, of the way that Spock takes his tea: a dash of cinnamon and a Vulcan spice that Jim can never pronounce. The way that his long and graceful fingers tighten around his mug as he contemplates his next move. How the skin between his eyebrows crinkles when he’s looking at an anomaly in his tricorder. The way his eyes light up when he’s discovering something scientifically grounding-breaking while exploring a new planet.

There is a high pitch sound building in his ears; it feels as if his skin, his muscles, his _everything_ is on fire. It’s becoming impossible to think. His mind desperately projects an image of Spock in front of him, in parade rest, hands behind his back, impervious as ever.

 _It is all right, Jim,_ projection-Spock says.

 _I’m scared, Spock,_ Jim says in return.

_It is logical to be scared in a highly stressful situation. It is also logical to assume it will be over soon._

Jim can feel tears on his cheeks. He feels the agony from the machine increasing. _Stay with me Spock, until I…_ He can’t finish it, even though he’s not even saying it out loud.

The Spock projection nods; puts a hand on his cheek, like Jim has always unrequitedly wished him to do in reality. _I will be here until the end._

The pain from the machine becomes so great that Jim can’t even imagine Spock anymore. He gives up his pride and screams.

There’s a bang across the room. Jim can hear the Klingons shouting. The machine suddenly sputters and stops, taking the agonizing burning with it. Jim slumps in his restraints, body spent.

He manages to raise his head and realize, with horror, that his Spock projection has become a full-blown hallucination. He knows it can’t _really_ be Spock because firstly, Spock is logical and went back to the ship and for secondly, Spock is not this _violent._

When Hallucination-Spock’s phaser is kicked out of his hands, his arm flies out to chop a Klingon across the throat. The force of it makes the Klingon go to his knees, gasping for air because of a broken windpipe. Another Klingon comes behind to grab Spock; taking the long spear weapon from the kneeling Klingon and whipping around, Spock stabs the Klingon in the leg. Yanking the blade from the offending leg, he slashes it across the Klingon’s chest for good measure.

Jim tries furiously to blink the hallucination from his eyes. It’s impossible that this is real.

Hallucation-Spock keeps hacking and slashing his way through the cell, never breaking a sweat. The last and largest Klingon, the supposed ringleader, sprints toward him. Spock takes a defensive crouch. At the last possible moment, he whips the spear out in front of him, holding steady as the Klingon, unable to stop in time, rams into it.

Not to be deterred, the Klingon reaches for Spock and grabs his hair. Spock kicks the Klingon’s legs from under him, tumbling him to the floor. With the Klingon on the ground, Spock reaches down and snaps his neck with no hesitation.

Jim thinks, horrified: if he’s hallucinating _now_ , who’s to say what will come later, before he dies. He was hoping he would at least keep his mind, in the end.

“Jim.”

Jim shakes his head. “No, not real,” he says with what little voice he has.

“Jim, where are you injured? Can you tell me what hurts?”

“Go away,” he says petulantly. He will _not_ give in to this hallucination.

Spock gently cups his chin and lifts his face. “Jim, it is Spock,” not-Spock says.

Jim tries to laugh; he coughs up blood instead. “Klingon mind-tricks won’t work on me, you bastards.”

There’s a really sad look in not-Spock’s eyes. “Oh, Jim,” he says softly. He whips his head around, as if he hears a sound. “We have to be quick,” he says, all business again. “There are more coming.”

“You can’t be Spock,” Jim says, deliriously, as Spock works on his restraints. “Spock went back to the ship, and saved everyone. Spock is _logical._ Spock—”

“I flew a shuttle down to the planet alone. The _Enterprise_ is out of orbit and safe, Captain.”

If it _is_ a hallucination, then Jim is very confused as to why his arms ache so horribly once Spock brings them down out of his restraints. He blinks at the Vulcan in front of him. “Spock…?”

Spock nods. “I have said before, it is I.”

“But it can’t be you. It doesn’t make sense. I ordered you to go to the ship.”

“I couldn’t leave, Captain.” Spock hesitates for a moment before reaching out to gently put a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “I couldn’t leave you alone, Jim.”

Jim wishes he could say something more intelligent or coherent, but all he can seem to do is pitch forward against Spock’s body. Not missing a beat, Spock gently lifts him over his shoulder and quickly exits the cell.

Unable to continue contemplating on whether it is reality or hallucination, Jim falls out of consciousness in the safety of Spock’s arms.

* * *

 

Spock realizes, with irritation, that his hands are shaking.

He does not know how long they have been doing so. Now that they are well out of orbit from the unnamed Klingon-colonized planet, and are safe from any possible ships that may be following them, Spock’s mind begins to settle on the situation at hand.

Spock had not been prepared for the state Jim was in after having been left for only 12.45 hours in the Klingon’s hands. Not for the first time in the last day, he is infinitely grateful for the fuss Dr. McCoy made to include many dermal regenerators, cardiac assisters, and bandages in the medipack that Spock took in the shuttle before departing the _Enterprise._ Jim had needed every single bit of that equipment to prevent permanent damage.

Spock puts the shuttle on an autopilot course to the rendezvous point with the _Enterprise._ He turns in his seat and regards Jim’s prone figure on the ground, wrapped in blankets. Spock rests his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled, as he attempts to steady himself.

The rage that he felt going through the door of that Klingon cell had been incomparable to anything he had ever felt. He went into the cell expecting resistance, and knew that he had to act accordingly, by stunning any Klingons he saw. But upon walking through the door, he was struck into stillness. To see Jim hanging from his wrists from the ceiling—the way his face was contorted in pain as the machine roared, the bloody, contorted state of his body… Spock was paralyzed with horror.

Until Jim screamed—then Spock snapped into violent action, abandoning all logic.

He felt _satisfaction_ when he broke that Klingon’s neck. He hacked his way through whoever was preventing him from getting to Jim. He had absolutely no remorse at taking the lives of the Klingons who had hurt the man he loves.

Spock focuses on Jim’s face, expression twisted in pain even as he sleeps. Because that’s the endless, unsolvable problem: Spock’s illogical love for this man.

He rises quickly from his chair when Jim groans, coming back into consciousness. Spock moves to kneel beside him. Jim’s eyes fly open and he immediately springs forward, the blanket flying from his chest. He looks around the shuttle wildly, eyes unseeing.

“Jim,” Spock says, grabbing his flailing arms. “Jim, you are safe. Be still.”

Jim’s chest is rising and falling with every heavy breath he takes. He looks at Spock, disbelieving. “Where the hell…”

“We are on a shuttle, on the way to the _Enterprise._ We are out of enemy territory.”

Blinking at Spock, Jim takes a moment to digest this information. Once he does his face is stormy. “What do you mean we’re on a shuttle? A shuttle you piloted back to the planet _alone_?”

Spock swallows hard. “Captain, lie down—your ribs are broken, they need—”

“I gave you a _direct_ order. I told you to leave me the hell on that planet,” Jim shouts, his voice cracking from disuse. “I _told_ you not to put the _Enterprise_ in danger!”

“The _Enterprise_ is not in danger, nor was it before,” Spock protests. He realizes that his hand is still on Jim’s arm. He keeps it there. “As soon as the landing party beamed back to the ship, I ordered Scotty to fly out of orbit—much to the protest of the bridge crew.”

Jim, still glaring, says, “I’ll bet Bones pitched a fit.”

Spock hides a wince as he remembers Dr. McCoy’s scathing words, ones that were oddly personal. “He was… upset.”

Jim scoffs. He allows Spock to guide him back into a lying position. His eyes are beginning to clear; he looks more like the captain that Spock knows. He looks at Spock. “So I suppose I just have you to be cross at.”

Tilting his head, Spock asks, “Captain?”

Jim sighs and rubs a hand over his face, wincing at the pain it brings. “God, Spock, think of the danger you put yourself in. That you put the _Federation_ in. With both of us in captivity who knows what information they would have tortured out of us. Of all the illogical, half-baked plans I’d expect an officer to make, I never expected this from you.”

Spock stares straight ahead, unable to look at Jim again. He nods. “You are correct, Captain. My actions were foolish and, admittedly, punishable.”

“I gave you a direct order, Spock. I _told_ you to leave me.”

“In all fairness, Captain, I did, initially.”

Jim narrows his eyes. “Are you trying to be _cute_ or something?”

“No, Captain”

“You could have put _lives_ in danger, Spock! Not of the least, your own!” Jim puts a hand on his ribs and lets out a pained breath. “God _damn_ it—”

“Jim, please rest your wounds. We can discuss this when—”

“No, damn my wounds, Spock!” Jim pushes himself to rest against his elbows. “I knew I was going to die, I accepted it. It’s what a captain _should_ do. When faced with death, for the sake of his crew, he should—” Jim shakes his head. “It’s _logical_ and of all the…” He trails off, looking infinitely lost. Staring at Spock, he says, softly, “I trusted you. _You,_ at the very least, to be logical in this situation.”

Spock finds he can say nothing to that. Silence hangs heavily over them.

Jim stares down at his bandaged chest; at the blanket that has pooled at his waist. “I’m a coward,” he says, almost too softly for Spock to hear.

“You are _not_ ,” Spock says fiercely.

“No, Spock, I am.” Jim raises his head to give him a self-deprecating smile. “If you were Bones, or Scotty, or anyone else—if you had protested my order—I wouldn’t have argued it. I was scared out of my mind, Spock. It didn’t matter how many people’s lives were at stake. If you hadn’t been the logical Vulcan that I always count on you to be, if you hadn’t… obeyed the order so willingly…” He shakes his head, trailing off. “I wouldn’t have been able to stay behind. I know I wouldn’t have.”

Spock notices a trembling in Jim’s shoulders. He rises to his feet and walks across the shuttle; he can feel Jim’s eyes following him. Taking out a blanket from the medipack, he brings it to Jim and gently drapes it on his shoulders. This only seems to increase Jim’s shaking.

Spock puts a soothing hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Of all the characteristics I know to be true about you, Captain, I do not consider one of them to be cowardly.”

Jim sighs; shakes his head. “Spock…”

“It is an infallible act of bravery in itself that you gave the order at all. Bravery is defined in small moments; in a moment such as that. It is also defined in the fact that you did not give any confidential information to the Klingons. That you remained firm in your resolve, even in the face of your death.”

Jim stares at his hands, his fingers absently picking at the blanket.

Spock closes his eyes, briefly, against the strong emotion that overcomes him.  “It is I who am the coward, Captain. As soon as you gave the order, I knew I had to disobey it. I could not leave you on that planet. I was already constructing a plan to take a shuttle and come back for you.”

Jim says, softly, “I hardly see how that makes you a coward, Spock.”

“It makes me a coward,” Spock says, trying to steady his pulse, “because in the face of imagining a life without you, I could not do it.” He forces himself to keep Jim’s stare when he raises his head and stares at him, mouth slightly agape. “I can not bear to think of a world without you, Jim.”

Jim continues to stare at him, expression blank. Spock’s pulse quickens at a frightening speed. Just as he feels that his heart might beat its way out of his chest, Jim leans forward and loops his arms around Spock’s chest, holding him close.

“Spock,” Jim murmurs against the cloth of Spock’s uniform. His voice sounds thick.

Spock moves forward to unhesitatingly encompass Jim in his arms; he leans his cheek against the softness of Jim’s hair. “Jim,” he whispers back, his voice likewise not as steady.

They stay there, wrapped in each other, in the stillness. After an indiscernible amount of long moments, Jim lifts his head from where it rests on Spock’s chest. “Why can you not imagine a world without me, Spock?” he asks in that simple, honest, yet demanding way that is quintessentially Jim Kirk.

Spock reaches out; brushes an errant lock from Jim’s forehead.  “Because you are the axis upon which it spins,” he answers back, because in the face of such a question, and in the face of Jim almost dying, that amount of honesty is what is required.

Something in Jim’s eyes soften. When Jim leans forward, Spock responds as if it is second nature. Their lips join, unhurriedly pressing together. They sit still in the quiet moment, Jim’s soft lips touching his. Spock does not know who moves first, who causes their mouths to begin moving hungrily against each other’s, for Jim’s hand to come up to Spock’s face and reverently cup his cheek, like he’s made of porcelain; for Spock’s hands to gently run up and down Jim’s back as he deepens the kiss.

“I could only think of you, when I thought I was going to die,” Jim says between kisses, breathlessly. “I could only think of you, Spock.”

Spock brings a hand to the back of Jim’s neck and brings him forward into a hungry kiss. “I do not wish to think of you dying,” he responds as he pulls back to Jim’s closed eyes and blissful expression.

“Then let’s not, ever,” Jim begs as he presses his body closer to Spock’s.

Spock can feel every one of his nerve endings light up from the closeness of Jim. He resists shedding them of their clothes and toppling Jim to the floor; he’s too conscious of Jim’s injuries. Instead he grabs Jim’s hips with hands tense from wanting, pulling Jim flush against him.

“How long?” Jim breathes, detaching his lips from Spock’s so to press kisses into Spock’s neck.

“Years,” Spock manages to say.

“When?” Jim whispers into Spock’s neck.

“From the first moment on the bridge.” Spock frames Jim’s face between his hands, brings him to his eye level. “I was lost.”

Jim’s face lights up in a smile. “Why Mr. Spock,” he says softly, teasingly. “I never took you for a romantic.”

“You make me many things, Jim,” Spock says, his thumb grazing over Jim’s bottom lip. He draws his hand back, frowning. “Jim,” he says. “You must understand that as first officer, I will always obey your orders. But as your…” He searches for the words.

“Lover,” Jim supplies, firm. “As soon as I heal, Spock, that will be the case.”

“Lover,” Spock repeats. The word wraps around his tongue pleasantly. “As your lover, I will never leave you behind. _Cannot_ leave you behind.”

Jim gently brings their lips together again; pulls away. “I am infinitely grateful to know you, Mr. Spock,” Jim says. “For your logic in the face of danger,” he presses a hand against Spock’s chest, smiling widely, “and for your illogic when it comes to love.”

Spock takes Jim’s hand into his own and answers with a smile of his own. “As am I, Jim.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for stopping by and reading. please let me know what you thought<3
> 
> (also, if you liked this fic, [here is the post on tumblr](https://spockfallsinlove.tumblr.com/post/176348194172/anon-prompt-kirk-is-badly-wounded-and-trapped-by) in case your thumbs are itching to reblog it)


End file.
